A Love to Live For
by I'm4realBtman
Summary: On a hunt, everything goes wrong for Dean and Castiel. What do you do when the man you love is fading before your eyes? Destiel fic. Rated M for graphic descriptions of an injury.


"You need to let me go," he said desperately, anguish flooding his voice and breaking the deep tenor into something unsteady and unrecognizable. Castiel's breath froze in his chest at the desperate words of his dear friend. His erratic heartbeat thrummed icily in his veins as fear took him into its unforgiving grasp. His hideous blood slicked hands hovered over the grotesque slice in Dean's stomach as shock settled over him. He knew there was no way that the both of them were getting out of the dingy warehouse. Before racing out of the building, but after cutting into Dean like a butcher to a slab of meat, the demon had clarified their situation; a bomb was set to blow soon and the choice of who would die was Castiel's decision. Dean's wound was horrid and the sigils haphazardly painted along every inch of the walls surrounding them stole every bit of Castiel's grace leaving him powerless and weak as a mewling kitten. Either Cas could attempt to drag Dean out of the building, likely passing out from exhaustion in mere seconds, or he could leave Dean behind so that he could have enough strength to get himself out of the trap they had so helplessly fallen into. The feeling of a soft bloody spray misting over his face accompanied by a violent cough from the dying man below him brought him back to the moment. His hands once again pressed into the mess of shredded skin and thick congealing blood to try to keep the life-sustaining liquid in his dear friend. The warmth of the nauseating liquid helped Cas to push the crippling fear to the back of his mind where it could be dealt with at a more opportune moment. Fat salty tears ran down his stubbled cheeks as more blood continued to flow out of Dean. The red stained Castiel's pale arms up past the wrist from how deep the wound was. He shuddered to think that the warm, pulsing mass below his left hand was an organ because to have tangible proof of how dire Dean's injury was, to make the situation _real_ rather than a sick nightmare, would break down any walls Castiel had built for himself to remain functional. His trembling hands grasped blindly in an effort to pull his trenchcoat, which was covering the lowermost edge of the wound, up to soak up the blood oozing from the top side of the cut. At some point during his ministrations, one of his tears fell and plopped solidly onto a part of the injury that remained uncovered causing stinging salt to soak deep into the already painful injury. Despite how much pain he was in already, the sharp stinging did not go unnoticed by the prone man who lay in a puddle of his own blood. Dean's small gasp of pain, one of the only sounds he let escape that night, was what brought Castiel's frenzied attention away from the gaping hole in his midsection and to his pale face. Castiel drew in a sharp gasp as he took in the broken man before him. The usually deeply tanned skin was nearly white due to the copious amounts of blood leaking out of him and slipping into every crevice of Cas' being like cherry wine spilled upon white marble tile and slipping into the cracks to remain there forever. His freckles usually sat upon his cheeks as constellations seem to rest on the edge of the unknown. The small dots, reminders forced upon him of hours being kissed and caressed by the harsh sun, were no longer stars with promised mystery, but were pinpricks of darkness. Looking at them now was as if he was staring at a man lost in the middle of Antarctica; cold, alone, and helplessly lost amidst spanses of nothingness. But not as lost as the look in Dean's eyes. His wide eyes gazed out at him as though Castiel was the only thing in the world. To look into Dean's frightened gaze was to look out into a Louisiana cypress swamp. Green cypress leaves swirl as the wind weaves through the intricate net the branches have formed. Where the emerald leaves are not, their pale reflections stare back at the world. A hypnotizing blend of jade sharp enough to draw blood and moss soft enough to cushion any fall. As if this wasn't enough, golden rays of sun reached down to make every drop of dew, every splash of water, glow with caramel light. In essence, Dean's eyes were the symbol of life and its unparalleled beauty. But when he looked too deep, as in this moment, Castiel stumbled down a hole not much different to the one Alice fell down in the children's tale. What was once reminiscent of a refreshing trip down to see the flying eagles and feel the cool lapping of the river was now like being thrust into a rainforest in the midst of a monsoon. The sun in his eyes is blotted out by thick, almost black foliage. More tears filled Castiel's eyes as the bright gaze he was so reliant on fell dark under the weight of unbearable pain. What truly broke Castiel's heart, however, was how the torrential rainstorm in Dean's eyes leaked out and down his face in salty trails of despair. Dean had always been so strong, so confident. He let nothing phase him, and if something did weigh heavy on his soul, he never let it show. It occurred to Castiel that this may have been the most emotionally exposed Dean had been since Cas had drug him out of Hell screaming and crying. A soft stuttered breath pulled Cas' eyes down to the chapped, plump lips. Just like the rest of his chiseled face, his full lips had the color draining out of them like paint being poured out of a paint can. The dirty concrete floor got painted while Dean, the metaphorical paint can, was drained. Cas was so distraught that he hadn't realized until that point that Dean was trying to speak to him.

"No, no, no, no, No, NO!" Cas shouted while shaking his head. He was acutely aware of his hands shaking and his ears ringing and the blood spilling and the tears falling, and- oh gods- Dean dying and-

"Cas." The one word uttered like the thick, dark smoke wafting up from the remains of a forest burning out; the last testament of a dying world. And that was what this moment was; the death of Castiel's world. He choked back a thick sob as he fought to be able to face the broken man before him. Cas' shoulders shook with songs of sadness unsung and he was forced to turn his face away from Dean because he knew he would lose all resolve if he had to look at the near lifeless eyes of his friend. Feather light touches brushed his dripping fingers as he resumed his desperate attempt to staunch the trails of red that still flowed out of Dean. He ignored the pleading touches as he forced himself to focus on saving Dean's life. Despite Cas' snubbing of his efforts, Dean continued to wriggle his hand until it was latched onto Cas' and their deft fingers interlocked. With the new flood of emotion that this simple move released, Cas' brawny shoulders sagged in despair and his hands clutched onto Dean's as if they were a lifeline, which they were in essence. Dean's grasp, though weak as a kitten, was alone responsible for Cas' tenuous hold on sanity. The heat that passed through their intimate contact felt far deeper than a simple touch. Like fire, heat raced through Castiel's veins scorching his skin from inside out. Yet, the embers fueled his resolve to protect the crumpled form in his arms. Flames licked at his stomach causing it to turn over anxiously, yet the feeling was not like nausea but rather butterflies. This feeling... this complex feeling was almost as terrifying as the hell hole situation they found themselves in. He had never felt something so searing and so painfully exquisite throughout his eternal existence. Despite millennia after millennia of experience, Castiel had no idea of what emotion was currently twisting his insides not unlike a sand snake writhing through a desert sandstorm.

"Get outta here… save y-yourself 'cause I ain't w-worth it. You n-need to l-live... for me." And just like that, he knew what the feeling was. It was the fires of passion burning down his defenses and breaking his spirit until it was no more than a pile of ash. It was the fire in his soul, being blown out by the cruel whispers of impending doom streaming through his ears and taking root in every crevice of his being. It was the feeling of his ribcage being cracked open as if as fragile as an egg. The ivory in his chest splintering and stabbing into his insides with pain as physical as it was mental. With panting breaths and heaving chest, his ribs were being drawn apart to release the timid creature within. His heart, so shy and full of love, began to bleed out as it saw its other half lying on the ground in a sickly red puddle. And like rose petals dropping from a dying rose, the tears fell because Cas knew that he had fallen. He had fallen hard and fast for the righteous man.

"You don't understand," Castiel choked out, his voice desperate and breathy. "I cannot be saved." More sobs wracked his body as he pulled Dean's cold frame further into his lap and up to slump against his heaving chest. Dean, no longer able to speak through the crippling pain as his life ebbed away in a crimson ocean, looked up at Cas with unbridled sadness and desperation. It took no genius to understand that were he able to speak, his voice would be coarse like steel wool as he berated Castiel for not valuing himself as he should be valued. Dean had always venerated him and ensured that he knew he was loved. Castiel laughed without humor as he contemplated their relationship. Family, they had always said. But in reality, it was never that simple. Increasingly prevalent passing touches sent desire coursing through their veins on a near-daily basis. Green eyes regularly met blue in short passion fueled glances, but it went unstated how often green eyes met the dark subtle waves of silky black hair. How mossy eyes would caress every line of taut muscles and feast upon the sharp planes revealed by the thin white shirt when the trenchcoat was being washed after a particularly messy hunt. How just as often as Dean's emeralds set their sights on fair skin and broad shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist, piercing blue eyes had gazed longingly in turn. How words were never spoken, but both understood the emotions underlying each of their actions. They both knew how the other felt, how nothing could keep them apart, not truly. Because although the battles they fought daily were arduous and the ever-present storm of their lives often caught them in a whirlwind of suffering and emotional turmoil, not a force in the whole world could tear them apart. Because this is not their world, the world of each has lied, and always will lie, within the other. And this was precisely the reason that Castiel could not save himself while his love lays practically lifeless in a pool of his own blood in the middle of a dirty, sigil scrawled warehouse. Because without Dean, Cas had no purpose to life for his whole being had been devoted to the man seemingly since the beginning of time. If Dean were to leave him, so would all joy and sanity. So what Castiel said was true; he was impossible to save because even as his mind denied it, he saw the life trickling steadily out of Dean's stomach in cherry red rivulets. So Castiel stayed. He didn't move an inch from his spot, but rather pulled Dean closer to his chest in broken-hearted desperation. He felt the searing heat of blood soaking through his rumpled dress shirt and cascading down his chest in a similar fashion to the tears down his face. He felt the weak punches against his pectorals as Dean frantically, as frantically as he could in his lethargic blood-loss weakened state, tried to push him away. All the freckled beauty wanted was to get his friend to safety, and it broke Cas' heart that he couldn't give the love of his life his dying wish. He knew that if he stayed with Dean, if he didn't leave soon, then he would be as good as dead and not just from a broken heart. If he strained his ears, he could pick up the faint ticking of the detonators countdown, but honestly, Castiel was more interested in the faint sound of his beloved's heart beating. He knew, even while Dean had never said as much in words, that that heart beat for him. Dean had given Cas his heart through their casual intimate moments, and now, Cas only prayed that it would beat long enough for him to say a proper goodbye. A soft hand brushed just under Cas's glassy eyes, taking the crystal tears with it, and he leaned into the feathery light touch. Dean's hand began to fall away even before the touch could be properly registered. With anguished eyes, Cas watched as the hand fell limply to the cold concrete floor making a small splattering noise as it disrupted the ever growing puddle of red. Cas' eyes widened as he noticed the heartbeat he had so intently been listening to had been silenced to almost nothing. The breaths slowly puffing out from between plump, kissable lips was now nothing but a small wisp of smoke. His heart dropped to his feet and his stomach rose to his throat causing an unpleasant feeling. His arm tightened around the gasping and choking man, while his other trembling hand came up to card gently through the baby-fine, closely cropped sandy hair. His head fell heavily onto Dean's frigid shoulder before nuzzling roughly into his neck, trying desperately to keep Dean lucid, to keep him alive. However, even in what he must have realized were his last moments, Dean smiled at him. It was much smaller than his typical boisterous grin and you couldn't see even a glimpse of his naturally straight teeth, but it was the single most beautiful thing Cas had ever seen. Because, for a moment, all the pain was gone. Dean's hypnotizing eyes the color of pine glittered with admiration and seemed to pierce into the very depths of Castiel's soul. His pale cheeks, whether it was Castiel's imagination or a trick of the light, had a rosy hue dusted amongst his smattering of freckles. With deliberate movements and an intense focus, Dean struggled to try to get some words out. When nothing but thick red bubbled out, he settled for mouthing out his last thought.

_I love you_.

And just like that the world came crashing back onto Castiel. The emerald eyes had turned into blank glass marbles and the warm smile had melted away into a slack pout. Strong hands that had brushed his tears away so carefully and caressed his cheek with soft, intimate touches had fallen to rest in the blood that was no longer pumping within. The firm chest his arm was so desperately wrapped around had come to a shuddering halt and he no longer felt the soft heart beat pittering against him. With an anguished scream, Castiel shouted his lover's name for all the world to hear. He fiercely pulled Dean's limp body into a crude cradle before smashing his lips against the bloodless ones in a crushing kiss. The kiss that they had never shared no matter how many times they wanted or needed to. The kiss that haunted them both, but would now only torment Castiel until the end of time. The kiss was a forbidden fruit for the starcrossed angel and righteous man. Always straining and striving to obtain its bliss, yet as soon as it is reached, everything is wrong and your stomach is twisted and you are fighting to hold back tears. And just like the apple from eons ago, there was a reason it was so out of reach - because it would be the downfall of all that is known. This is why Dean never took the leap. He valued Cas more than anyone else did and wanted nothing but safety for his beautiful creature. In fact, he would rather die alone in a sea of his lifeblood than risk seeing his angel blown sky high with him. Which is why Castiel was able to pull back from the kiss and lay his lost love on the cold concrete floor. Why he was able to push himself up to his knees. Why he could rise to his feet when all he wanted to do was lay next Dean until the end of time. The fat drops of sorrow rolled down his cheeks as he took in the crumpled form of his soulmate. Even in death, Dean's elegant form could be likened to the grace and undying beauty of the night sky. The light glittering off of the blood coating him glowed bright like a collapsing star and his dead eyes were open wide and dull like twin moons. His golden freckles mapped out abstract constellations on his sullen, sallow skin. His blood slicked hair sat in waves like meteors streaking through the night sky for children to whisper their wishes to. His arms, scarred from years in a life of battle, had imperfections to rival the craters of the moon, yet muscles hard like moon rocks could be seen lying just beneath his skin. His seductive lips were slack, yet the corners seemed to rest in a slight smile like a crescent moon waning into nothingness. And like the night sky, his corpse could be summed up as tragically beautiful, for both was a graveyard of stars. The turbulent ocean within Castiel's eyes bubbled up and out in veiny streams and he swiped at the drops angrily as he turned his back on the spot where Dean's life had been snatched away. His heart hurt like a broken rib; with every breath it felt like knives stabbing into him and seizing his breath, yet any bystander would think him to be fine. With each trudging step he forced himself to take toward the door, Castiel felt a piece of himself fall away like a rose petal escaping its dying host. By the time his aching body had reached the heavy metal door they- Cas and _him_ \- had entered in, he felt to be a fraction of the man he was before. He was vaguely aware that the beeping of the bomb had sped up into a worrying tune that told of near self destruction, but found that it had no effect on him hastening his exit. Rather, the earsplitting dings paused him in his steps as he considered death. His love was gone and with him every emotion Castiel possessed. For even hate and anger meant that passion was involved, but his passion had been burned up by a collapsing star who he endearingly called his lover. And with this thought, he took the final excruciating stride out into the glaring sun and the clear Indiana sky. Because before he burned out in a whisper of smoke, Dean had taught him one of the most important lessons in his life, one he would never forget. While Cas had always believed that there were only two types of love, that for which you would kill for and that for which you would die for, Dean proved that real love was the kind that despite being ripped apart by pain and shattered by the cosmos, true love is the love you would live for.


End file.
